


Acts of Emotion

by noodleinabarrel



Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Chocolate, Five Year Mission, Friends to Lovers, Gift Giving, Love Confessions, Love Letters, M/M, POV Spock, Slow Build, Underwear, Valentine's Day
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-06
Updated: 2016-02-14
Packaged: 2018-05-18 15:00:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 10,463
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5932549
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/noodleinabarrel/pseuds/noodleinabarrel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Over the course of their five year mission aboard the Enterprise, Spock observes the curious--and sometimes frustrating--human customs associated with Valentine’s Day in relation to his captain. As Spock’s relationship with Kirk evolves, observation irrevocably shifts into participation.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Year One: Flowers

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was written for [K/S Valentine 2016](http://ksvalentine.livejournal.com/)!

The captain sneezed over his fried eggs and toast.

“They’re beautiful, Lieutenant, but it really wasn’t necessary.” He smiled as Lieutenant Arnett handed him three yellow roses elegantly wrapped around the stems with a white bow and clear plastic wrapping. The captain returned to his meal as the Lieutenant left with a sheepish grin.

Kirk sliced a knife through his eggs and sneezed a second time, yellow yoke splattering off his fork and onto the front of his uniform.

“What’s wrong with you, now?” As the echo of the captain’s sinus expulsion reverberated throughout the mess hall, Doctor McCoy had rushed to Kirk’s side and pressed a hand against his forehead. “No fever.” He abandoned his breakfast tray with a clatter on the table and pulled a tricorder from his pocket, proceeding to wave the device across Jim’s body.

“Just something caught in my nose.” Jim shrugged and sneezed again. “Go back to your grits. They’ll get cold.”

Spock placed his spoon parallel to his empty bowl of plomeek soup and stood, approaching the captain’s table at the end of the hall where this disruptive scene was taking place. He stood at parade rest beside the doctor. “As the captain’s medical file contains extensive details in regards to his pollen allergy, there is a ninety nine percent likelihood that he is suffering sinus aggravation due to the influx of flower bouquets he has received from crew members this morning along with boxes of chocolates, cards, and a variety of small wrapped gifts.”

Kirk started slightly, his body tensing in his seat. “Gods, Spock! Don’t sneak up on me like that.”

“Let me repeat. What the hell’s wrong with you?” Doctor McCoy yelled. “You some kind of masochist? Why the hell did you accept flowers?”

The captain ignored his chief medical officer’s emotional outpouring, and glared at Spock with narrowed eyes.

“You’ve been going through my medical files?” Jim asked with a lowered tone of accusation that Spock refused to allow to irritate his brain’s limbic system.

Spock leveled his neutral gaze upon Kirk’s aggressively visual scrutiny. “I examined your medical files when I was assigned the position of first officer aboard the Enterprise twenty two days ago.”

“Stalker,” Jim scowled.

Spock lifted an eyebrow. “As I am both first and chief science officer aboard this ship, it is only logical that I be aware of any medical fallacies its captain suffers in order to competently complete my duties. One of which is to protect you from harmful particles conveyed within foreign atmospheres or organic matter that could impair your health, disrupting your ability to optimally command the Enterprise.”

“In other words, someone has to look out for you since you obviously have no intention of defending yourself from your rabble of idiotic admires.” Reaching forward, McCoy grabbed the flowers within Kirk’s grasp and pulled. The stems slipped from the captain’s grip, several petals detaching from the tops and drifting into his lap. He sneezed again.

“What can I say, I’m a popular guy.” Kirk winked with a reddening eye. McCoy shoved an arm into the captain’s ribs. Frowning at the aggressive display, Spock wondered if it would be prudent to report the doctor for violent tendencies and possible mutiny against a superior officer.

“Gotta be batshit crazy to wanna be your Valentine.” Shaking his head vehemently, McCoy circled his eyes within their sockets. The facial spectacle gave the doctor a discomfiting appearance that made him look as maniacal as he proposed the captain’s admirers were.

Jumping up, Kirk made a grab for the roses the doctor held behind his back. McCoy dodged the captain’s clumsy maneuvers easily as he was continuously overcome by repeated sneezes.

Before the two men inflicted physical harm upon each other with their combative antics, Spock interrupted. “It would be logical to inform the crew via inter-ship communication to abstain from giving flowers to the captain in order to prevent further medical distress upon his person, and to suggest more proficient methods of expressing their appreciation for the Enterprise’s commanding officer.”

“No way am I letting you make an announcement to the whole crew about this,” Kirk objected. “It’ll be embarrassing for them and me. They mean well with the flowers and gifts. It’s not their fault they don’t know I’m allergic.”

“Affirmative. It will be yours for not informing them of their negligence.”

Kirk grimaced. “Let it go, Spock.”

“You can’t keep a greenhouse in your quarters just to save hurting a few ensigns’ feelings,” McCoy argued. “Damn kids throwing their feelings and greenery every which way with no mind to who they knockout.”

“For once, I find myself in agreement with Doctor McCoy.” The doctor glanced at Spock from his peripheral vision, an uncommon tilt to his lips that was rarely directed in the Commander’s direction unless in sarcastic jest. “Crew members should not be negligently expressing romantic feelings for their captain. Relationships with crewmates of disparate ranks are ill advised by Starfleet.”

The captain flung his head back, a prolonged stream of breath expelling from his parted lips. Resting his back against the chair, he glared pointedly at Spock, his expression tinged with exasperation. Spock had begun to understand the message conveyed in the firm press of Kirk’s mouth, his lowered eyelids, and the small furrow between his brows during their short time in service together. Every time Spock objected to the captain’s command decisions, Kirk’s face would exhibit a visual abstraction of his aversion toward his first officer, followed by a statement claiming the insignificance of the Starfleet regulation Spock had quoted and which the captain was currently violating.

“It’s Valentine’s Day, Spock.” Kirk waved a careless hand through the space between them, resting his palm against the top of the chair back. “I’m flattered the people giving me flowers and chocolates think I’m cute or whatever, but they’re just having fun. It’s not like they expect me to get down on one knee or drag them off behind the Jefferies tubes.”

“The way Ensign McCauley was waxing poetic about your heroism and chiseled features when I patched his leg up after your last mad scheme on Plades IV, I’m pretty sure he was hoping for just that,” McCoy grimaced.

“Chiseled features, huh?” Jim tilted his face toward McCoy, a sneeze expelling through his irritated nostrils a second later. The doctor whacked his right hand against the captain’s shoulder.

“It is also unprofessional for you to encourage such unprofessionalism,” Spock added.

“I didn’t demand gifts over the intercom,” Kirk said.

“Yet, if you do not discourage their actions, there is an eighty three percent chance the crew will continue them in the future.”

The captain rubbed a hand along his nose and sniffed loudly. “Look, Spock. I see where you’re coming from. I know acts of emotion like giving a guy a few flowers on Valentine’s Day puts you off. But Lieutenant Arnett is hardly going to jump my bones because I accepted _yellow_ roses. And I can bear a little sneezing to show my gratitude for the crew and all they’ve done for me—honestly, I should be the one handing out flowers. So, I’m not going to shut down Valentine’s Day by complaining about my sinuses. I don’t want them to start tip toeing around me, thinking I’m some unapproachable fragile thing.” He shrugged. “Flowers don’t last long anyway.”

When Doctor McCoy shoved an allergen hypospray forcefully into Jim’s neck, Spock felt no pity for the captain’s complaints.

“Do you carry those things around everywhere?” Jim yelled, rubbing at the red puncture against his skin.

“When I’m hanging around you, I do,” McCoy replied gruffly, moving away to deposit the empty hypo and disheveled flowers into the recycler.

During his morning shift in the science labs, Spock discreetly discussed the composition of plant allergens with the officers on duty using the captain’s recent sufferings on their away mission to Brilia, a planet home to pollen dense flora that had aggravated the captain’s sinus’ during his visit. Ensign McCauley was within hearing distance of the conversation, his eyes focused on Spock as he revealed the details of the captain’s distress.

The likelihood of knowledge shared about the captain’s person being kept secret on the ship for longer than twenty four hours was a minimal three point one percent. Spock observed that the captain received no further plant life from crew members during the remainder of the day.

*


	2. Year Two: Anonymous

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> During their second year aboard the Enterprise, a mysterious box is delivered to Jim's door on Valentine's Day. Spock witnesses the unveiling.

The bell for Jim’s quarters rang as Spock was considering the placement of his queen to the right in order to defend his knight against an onslaught by Jim’s castle. Or to the left to prevent a stratagem Spock suspected the captain had been devising for the past eight plays.

“Come in,” Jim called, his eyes remaining trained on Spock’s face. When Jim won the first time they played chess together two hundred and fifty seven days ago, Spock had expressed surprise at the outcome and had questioned the captain on his strategical methods. Jim had insisted he could read Spock ‘like a book’ in the insignificant movement of muscles under skin that he claimed spelled out thoughts across Spock’s face. Spock suspected the comment was one of the many bluffs Jim used during games of leisure, such as his weekly poker games with the bridge crew, or during diplomatic missions when he encouraged incensed officials to divert their opinions in his favor.

To dispel his suspicion that the carefully structured mask he had constructed over his sparse human features was scratched, Spock had stood in front of the mirror in his quarters after his evening with Jim and watched himself for fifteen minutes, replaying the events of the night through his eidetic memory. He recalled the movement of Jim’s hand across the chess board, their conversation about the latest warp core advances, the smiles and frowns and other forms of unhindered expressions that flitted across Jim’s face as they spoke. And finally he recollected the captain’s request, as Spock was about to leave his quarters, that Spock call him by the shortened version of his given name--Jim. Spock analyzed his own reactions to each memory within the mirror’s reflection and found nothing but the neutral canvas of his Vulcan façade.

When there was no answering movement from the entrance way, Jim stood and checked the door’s camera. “No one there. Just a box,” he said.

Spock hurried over to Jim’s side as he pressed the release for his door. “Who is it from?”

Picking it up, Jim turned the box around in several directions. “Don’t know. There’s no tag.” He pulled at a ribbon.

“Jim. Opening an unattended box would be unwise.”

The captain snorted. “It’s Valentine’s Day, and the thing is wrapped in red paper and covered in bows. The worst it can be is a glitter bomb.”

Spock’s eyes widened fractionally. If the captain’s customary displays of illogic could cause such havoc through his orbicularis oculi, perhaps Spock’s façade was not as impartial as he had suspected. “Jim. If you believe the box contains an explosive device, we should notify Lieutenant Marcus and request her assistance with disarmament.” Security protocols listed in furious lines through his consciousness as he reran a sequenced incident report of the past week, attempting to discover how such a weapon could have come on board. Considering they had made no stops at planets or starbases, the likelihood that a crew member had created the bomb with the intention of harming the captain was eighty eight point two percent greater than an outside attempt at assassination. Spock was unaware of any crew member who had a grunge against the captain. Considering the amicable personality he presented to his subordinates, the crew generally appeared to adore him.

As Spock was processing this information, Jim’s laugh echoed within his ears as an ill-timed interlude. This was hardly an appropriate time for humor.

“Spock,” Jim gasped. “Glitter bombs aren’t dangerous. Just messy.”

Spock paused his analysis of suspects. “Clarify.”

“Think about it--a box full of glitter. You open it and that stuff gets everywhere.” Flinging his arms in the air, Jim made a circular motion above his head that Spock assumed was meant to imitate an explosion. “Poof!”

Spock blinked as he attempted to imagine the purpose of such a device. “I see. Perhaps the sender is attempting to redecorate your quarters.”

Jim’s hands moved to rest on his waist. “Are you saying my room is bland?”

“That is not what I said.”

“Excuse me if I don’t have time to go hanging up Vulcan tapestries, drapes, weird old artifacts, sciency doodads, and incense. Etcetera, etcetera.” Jim crossed his arms. “Isn’t all that embellishment illogical?”

“Each item in my quarters has a purpose. Some pieces are functional, and others are placed to improve the aesthetic quality of my room.”

“Not sure glitter is the aesthetic I’m going for.” Walking back into his quarters, Jim dropped the box on the table, a sound barely registering as it hit the wood. The contents must be light or insubstantial. The possibility of the packaging containing glitter increased.

Jim proceeded to rip open the box and immediately burst into laughter. He revealed the contents under an abundant mass of red tissue paper.

“What do you think?” Jim pulled the piece of cloth from the box, the item hooked around his index finger. “Will it suit me?” He waved the article back and forth across the chessboard.

Spock raised an eyebrow. “I do not know the purpose of this item.” It appeared to be a trifling quarter of bright pink fabric patterned with red hearts.

“It’s underwear,” Jim replied with a grin. He stretched the fabric out lengthwise so Spock could view the full, albeit small, breadth of the article.

Spock’s left eyebrow joined the right on its ascent up his forehead. “It is too small.”

Jim stared at Spock, his lips turned down in a frown, the seriousness of the expression negated by the flexing muscles along his cheeks and around the edges of his eyes. “Yeah, ok I have a big butt. But this stuff is pretty stretchy.” He pulled the fabric outward twice. It was surprisingly durable for such a thin piece of fabric. “I’m trying them on.”

“Is that necessary at this time?”

“Nope.” Jim began undoing the clasp on his pants. Spock averted his gaze. The captain had no concept of privacy. He regularly stripped in the presence of others in the gym changing room, and during landing parties when the occasion called for a hasty alteration of dress. When Scotty had beamed down traditional clothing so they could assimilate with a hostile Tegate tribe that had kidnapped Lieutenant Sulu and facilitate his rescue, other members of the party had moved to change behind trees or bushes. Jim had pulled off his clothes unabashedly within the clearing.

The rustle of clothing pervaded Spock’s auditory system. Within his peripheral vision, the captain’s command shirt fell to the floor in a rumpled pile.

“Why are you removing your shirt?” Spock queried though he was unsure why. The likelihood of receiving a logical answer was infinitesimal.

“Because wearing a shirt with undies looks stupid. It’ll ruin the effect.”

Spock’s hypothesis was correct.

“Hey,” Jim stepped into Spock’s visual radius. “How do I look?”

Glancing at Jim, Spock considered his aesthetic reaction to the garish fabric. “I do not find the pattern or colour combination visually pleasing.” His eyes drifted to the muscled length of Jim’s thighs instead and their dusting of fine golden hair.

“Hmm,” Jim glanced southward. “Did you have them delivered to me?”

Another one of the captain’s humorous statements. “No, Jim. I did not.”

Jim rubbed his chin. “I don’t know--seems a little suspicious. The box arrives when we’re alone in my quarters with just you to see me model these sexy undies.” Jim took a step closer, his hips moving slightly to the right.

Spock took a half step back. “If I was to send you undergarments, they would be of a more functional variety, such as those provided by Starfleet. Not a gaudy piece of cloth that barely covers the body parts they are meant to protect.”

Jim snorted, moving to observe himself in the mirror placed against the wall. Watching the stretch of fabric over the captain’s posterior for two point eight seconds, Spock glanced downward, his regard affixing on the placement of his queen on the chessboard once more.

“Yeah,” Jim murmured. “I guess they’re not really your thing. And pink isn’t my colour.”

Although the colour was not to his taste, Spock reevaluated his previous perceptions about the size of the fabric and found the article to be adequate for the captain’s form.

“Maybe Bones sent it.”

Spock’s gaze moved upward again, landing inconveniently on the swell of Jim’s backside. “That is highly unlikely.”

Jim laughed. “Not as an actual Valentine’s gift. But as a joke.”

“Perhaps. However, it is more likely that a crew member hoping to see you in the garment would have sent the item to you.”

“Oh Gods, I hope not.” The muscles of Jim’s gluteus maximus flexed briefly.

“If you had discouraged acts of unthinking gift-giving last Valentine’s Day, you would not be receiving such items at your door this year.”

Jim turned, breaking Spock’s gaze upon his rear, and instead bringing the outline of the captain’s groin under the thin fabric into view. “Guess there’s nothing I can do about it now. I’ll have to wear this thing around the ship so whoever sent it can have an eyeful. Can’t disappoint them.”

Spock’s eyebrows jumped northward.

“I’m joking, Spock.”

Spock closed his eyes. “I would not have put the act past you, Jim.”

Laughing, Jim bent to disrobe. Spock once again averted his gaze as the captain changed. Ten point two seconds later, the undergarment hit the back of Spock’s head, falling in a shivery sweep against his hand.

*


	3. Year Three: Words

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Spock tries to write a love letter. The process proves more difficult than he expected.

Spock dragged the word file containing his third attempt to construct a letter disclosing his romantic intentions toward Jim, and dropped the icon into the recycle bin.

It should not be this difficult to state his meaning in words. If Spock was able to produce a thirty page article on thermonuclear fusion, as he had recently done for _Federation Science_ , he could write a single letter.

Reminding himself the correspondence was intended to be anonymous in order to gage Jim’s reaction to having a serious applicant for his attentions among the Enterprise’s crew, Spock willed his heart to stop thumping against his side three beats per minute longer than was necessary for the circulation of his blood.

Opening a blank document, Spock proceeded to stare at the blinking cursor on his screen for five point two minutes, his fingers frozen above the keyboard.

 

_To Captain Kirk:_

 

Spock read the words several times in his head, imagining Jim’s voice uttering them. He pressed his finger against the backspace on his keypad and made an alteration to the initial greeting.

 

_To Jim:_

 

No, still too formal. Jim constantly expressed a distinct dislike for formality. If Spock hoped to attract Jim’s devotion, the use of a simple address would be more rational. He deleted the words and tapped his fingers against his PADD three times.

 

_Jim,_

 

Spock stared at the screen, counting the steady flash of the cursor. One, two, three – twenty six.

He backspaced and considered using a prefix to embellish further connotation into his use of Jim’s name; perhaps one of the blandishments used by humans to convey their affection. Minimizing the word document on his PADD, Spock opened his net browser and searched the database for a list of “common human endearments.” After perusing the list, he typed a selection into the word document to analyze his reaction to each.

 

_Dear Jim_

_Dearest Jim_

_Darling Jim_

 

Pressing his index finger against the backspace button forcefully, Spock closed his eyes, blocking his view of the nauseating phrases as each was wiped from the screen, until he was left with a clean white page. The endearments echoed remotely in his head – meaningless syllables he could not imagine his vocal cords forming the sounds to issue. The words were so ill-fitted to his tenor and speech patterns that the only response Spock could theoretical imagine from Jim was laughter.

_Jim_ , Spock typed again.

Indeed, Spock could think of no more accurate greeting to evoke his current state of feeling toward his captain. The single syllable meant more to Spock than any other.

 

_Jim,_

_I am composing this letter to you in order to convey my feelings_

 

Feelings. An abstract concept, almost as unfamiliar as the senseless endearments. Feelings could mean two opposites such as love or hate. Or the tenuous similarity but vast difference between attraction and affection.

Reminiscing on the development of his own feelings toward Jim, Spock was unsure which had come first. His physical lust for the captain’s figure had submerged unconsciously. At first, his dreams about Jim had shocked him. Normally Spock possessed a firmer control over the focus of his subconscious during sleep and he was initially disgusted his mind had conjured erotic thoughts of his commanding officer performing such obscene acts. Although he could not deny his physical attraction to Jim’s features, Spock kept his instinctive bodily urges, as every Vulcan did, strictly controlled by the greater influence of his mind. Apparently, his mental shields required conditioning.

As the dreams continued despite his additional bouts of meditation, Spock found his subconscious imagery pervading his cognizant thoughts. The unwanted dreams led to a craving as his body became stimulated by the sensual fabrications. Scenes involving Jim and himself in various stages of undress unfurled in his mind as he sat still on his mediation mat, listening to the echo of the sonics beyond the wall that separated his quarters from the bathroom he shared with the captain.

Spock was unaware of when the overwhelming affection that pressed against his side began. It is possible that it existed longer that he initially believed, the symptoms on his body excused as a case of indigestion or overstimulation during a period of stressful away missions. As Jim went about his daily activities and habitual practices, Spock noticed his heart beat at least two strokes swifter per second when the captain was is his visual or auditory range. His mental shields flooded with sensation as he watched Jim push food around his plate as he conversed with Spock over breakfast, when he witnessed the captain running his fingers along the line of his lips or the curve of his chin as he considered a new set of mission parameters, as he heard Jim laughing at one of Lieutenant Sulu’s humorous remarks during bridge shift, when he felt the press on Jim’s grip around his shoulder as the captain leant over the science station, or when Jim said Spock’s name with a smile, his voice like a caress through his tympanic membranes.

 

_I am composing this letter to you in order to convey my feelings for you._

 

Which feelings? Spock felt too much for the captain—emotions he was only beginning to pull individually from the assault of sensation for analysis then identification. It would take a ten to twenty page essay to fully express each emotion and their effect on Spock’s physiological and mental processes. As the captain was not fond of Spock’s overly detailed and elaborative reports, he suspected turning his so called, ‘love letter’ into a ‘love essay,’ would not be wholly welcome. He did not want the captain to become bored while reading and dismiss the confession because it was ‘overcomplicating the issue at hand.’ A phrase he had used to describe his first officer’s recent report on the culture of the Denobian people which he had presented to the captain before a diplomatic mission.

 

_I have developed an emotional state in regards to your person that transcends our professional relationship._

 

That was not a precise statement. Such a state could describe their amiable friendship. And although rapport was one of the emotions Spock had successfully identified within his chaotic tangle of sentiments related to Jim, it did not explain the full breadth of feeling. Spock suspected friendship had led to his current state of obsession with the captain. Extended amounts of time spent together and a relaxed environment that encouraged more expressive speech allowed Spock to become familiar with the captain’s compelling qualities. Additionally, an increased amount of physical touch initiated by the captain’s tactile personality toward his friends had inflamed Spock’s desire to place his own hands upon Jim.

 

_My feelings toward you are of a physically and mentally ardent nature._

 

Spock thought it may be valuable to provide examples of his attraction in order to explain his meaning.

_For example, when our hands met as you handed your PADD to me this morning, insisting that I view a humorous video you had discovered on the net of infant shelats absconding with a zookeeper’s hat, I found it necessary to suppress a physical expression of arousal as your skin brushed against mine._

Spock highlighted the sentence and deleted it for the sake of anonymity. If he described such a specific reference, Jim would easily identify Spock as the sender of the letter.

 

_Feelings that do not singularly encompass enjoyment garnered from your company, and respect for you as my captain and colleague, but additionally_

 

Spock paused, finding himself at an unusual loss for words. He required a specific term to elucidate the swell that arose at the forefront of his mind whenever he reflected about Jim. A word existed in the Vulcan language, an ancient word carried over from pre-Golic, rarely seen outside the confines of his peoples’ historic poetry, faded ink on aged crumbling paper. The thought of _t'hy'la_ in relation to himself and Jim filled Spock with a sense of wonder. However, there was no word he knew in standard that could communicate a similarly comprehensive meaning.

Spock opened the dictionary program on his PADD and chose Federation Standard from the language selection. He browsed through the definitions for terms such as adulation, affection, devotion, and love. He consulted synonym lists and three different thesauri. No word explained the jumbled mix of heat, chill, lust, need, tenderness—as if his epidermis increased in sensitivity whenever Jim entered Spock’s general vicinity—all of them tinged with a shadow of fear and uncertainty.

Placing his PADD on the table, Spock tangled his hands in his lap, inhaling deeply as he closed his eyes in an attempt to still his agitated thoughts. This was an unproductive use of time. Despite his half-human blood, Spock was a Vulcan. Using human techniques to express emotion via the Terran romantic practice of sending Valentine cards with notes of secret admiration was beyond the confines of his character. Considering the captain’s reaction to anonymous gifts he had received during past Valentine’s Days, there was a sixty eight point three percent chance that Jim would find Spock’s card to be amusing or believe the item was a joke. An equally disastrous response would likely occur if Spock signed the letter with his own name. Although Spock continuously informed the captain that Vulcan’s did not ‘joke,’ Jim insisted that his first officer had an ‘amazing sense of humor.’ It was possible Jim would assume the note he was composing was another expression of Spock’s nonexistent form of comedy.

Spock’s communicator beeped, suddenly jolting him from a building sense of emotional compromise. He flipped the case open.

“Spock here.”

“Spock,” Jim’s voice emanated from the speaker. Although his tone was dulled by the imperfect technology of the communication device, the sound still caused Spock’s cheeks to warm.

“It’s Jim,” the captain said, as if the resonance of his voice were not already branded along the wide tracks of Spock’s memory. “Come up to the observation deck. There’s a light show going on with this nebula we’re passing though that you’ll love.”

Love. How easily Terrans tossed the word about as if their days were spent in a perpetual state of infatuation with everyone and everything they experienced.

“Spock, you there? I didn’t disturb your meditation, did I?”

“No,” Spock replied. “I am unoccupied.”

“Great. I’m on observation deck two. It’s quieter.” The soft breath on Jim’s laughter. Although the speaker could not transmit the movement of Jim’s breath, Spock’s mind imagined it brushing along the small hairs within his ears, stimulating the skin surrounding his auditory canal, as he held the communicator closer to his head. “One is filled with couples making out,” Jim added.

“It is unlike you to be embarrassed by such physical displays,” Spock spoke into the communicator.

“I didn’t want to disturb their fun. Captain stripes tend to make the lower ranks self-conscious about that kind of stuff.”

“Your position has never inflicted my mental state with feelings of timidity.”

“I’ve noticed,” Jim laughed. “Why? Planning to bring a groping buddy to show off?”

Spock frowned at the metal casing of his communicator. “I require no other company except yours, Jim.”

There was a pause of speech and an exhale of breath through the communicator’s conduction. “Get up here, then, before you miss the show,” Jim said.

“I will be there in approximately two point eight minutes,” Spock replied.

“I’ll be waiting.” Spock could hear the smile in Jim’s timbre, his amusement an almost visceral presence. Spock’s grip tightened around the communicator as if he could hold that emotion within his hand, Jim’s pleasure seeping through his skin, flowing along his neurons to rest within his metal landscape. “Jim out.”

Closing his communicator, Spock glanced at the empty script scrawled across his PADD, the lines too straight and narrow. He closed the word program and dragged the half completed file into his recycle bin. Leaving his PADD lying on his desk, Spock stepped from his room to the turbolift and directed the mechanism to deck two.

*


	4. Year Four: Confession

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> McCoy tries to talk some sense into Spock who remains resolutely pessimistic about his emotional state. Jim returns early from shore leave with a gift.

“Well aren’t we two lonely hearts.”

Spock glanced from the article he was reading by Dr. Sh'qokrar about her analysis of the newly discovered Tanaxis system, as Leonard pulled out a chair across the table and sat down with his tray of what appeared to be a steaming mass of vegetable and meat products served on top of rice. Spock rested his spoon upon his tray, lowered his PADD, and quirked his left eyebrow.

“I believe a relevant Terran saying at this moment would be: speak for yourself.”

Leonard laughed, burying his fork into his meal. “That sounds like one of your cover-ups, Spock. Sure, Valentine’s Day isn’t my thing. But pretty sure it ain’t yours, either.”

Spock nodded. “Your statement is valid. Vulcans do not acknowledge a holiday on the Terran calendar day of February the fourteenth.”

“It’s a sore day with me now—haven’t celebrated it since my divorce.” The doctor took a heaping fork full of food and placed it forcefully into his mouth.

Spock linked his hands on top of the table, recognizing the tone and body language expressed by Leonard as a signifying desire to ‘air his grievances,’ as he so often described his emotional outbursts. Although Spock had once riled at the doctor’s foolhardy release of personal protestations for any and all in hearing distance to discern, after years spent in his company Spock had come to understand that instable emotionalism was not a fault within Leonard’s character, but a sign of the man’s empathy. He expressed himself as if his compassion was too voluminous to be contained within the restraints of his body. Spock had witnessed examples of the doctor’s emphatic care whenever Jim was injured. And similarly, even before their tenuous friendship had begun to manifest, when Spock found himself occasionally incapacitated in med bay.

Spock considered how to prompt the doctor to expel his mental turmoil in a constructive manner that would provide a composed release of his ill emotions. “Did you celebrate the day in any particular way?” Spock queried. “As Vulcan’s do not conspicuously express their emotions, I find the holiday to be strikingly peculiar.”

“Nothing fancy like some folks. I’d get her flowers—she wasn’t crazy allergic like that idiot, Jim.” Leonard’s face displayed a strange mixture of temperament, part scowl, part grin. He was likely referencing the memory of Jim’s extreme allergic reaction after accepting a copious amount of gifted plant life from admiring crew members during the first celebration of Valentine’s Day aboard the Enterprise. After crew members had learned of the captain’s fate, those who had gave him flowers were apologetic. Jim had overlooked their admissions of guilt with laughing professions of their innocence and pointed glares in Spock’s direction. How the captain had become aware that his first officer was involved in distributing knowledge about his pollen allergy, Spock did not know. Even then, Jim seemed to see right through Spock’s impassivity.

Additional time, however, was required for Spock to gage the subtleties of Jim’s personality--that the reasoning behind his hesitation to inform the crew of his allergy was born from a concoction of insecurity about his sudden promotion to captain aboard the Enterprise, his role among the crew as an authority figure, and astonishment that such admiration was being bestowed upon his person in such abundance. As he became an unusual but fast confidant of Jim’s, Spock developed an understanding of the captain’s person through his unhindered reactions to command matters such the admiralty’s new ship assignments, or comments on crew performance that Jim would seek Spock’s opinion on. As they grew to trust one another implicitly, their conversations drifted outside the bounds of their profession, and Jim started to share personal recollections, stories from his past that allowed Spock to piece together the experiences that had shaped the man Jim now was.

“Roses?” Spock asked. “The red rose is a traditional expression of romantic love among Terrans, is it not?”

The doctor shook his head. “No, I always gave her peonies. They were her favorite.” Leonard’s lips lifted in a soft expression of pleasure at the reminiscence. The memory of his wife was a conflicting one for the doctor. One moment he would rage about the injustice of their separation, laying curses upon his wife for giving up on their relationship so easily. The next he would be laughing as he imparted a tale about the pranks his former wife used to play on him after work, or pridefully speaking about how she made ‘the best damn gumbo in Georgia. God help him, he’d never find anything as good on this sterile hunk of metal.’

Leonard continued his rumination. “Then we’d usually make a meal together at home to avoid the crowds. Sometimes you just wanna be with your wife for a day and enjoy her company.” He sighed. “And sometime you wanna go running for the hills. That’s love, I guess.”

The doctor’s description of love did not match the one Spock’s memory recalled in the Federation Standard dictionary.

“You are disturbed by your current condition as a ‘lonely heart,’” Spock noted.

Huffing, Leonard jabbed his fork in Spock’s direction. “Of course I am. As you always like to hark on about, I’m an expressive guy. Well, maybe that means I have a lot of love I need to share with someone.”

“I see,” Spock nodded. “Your reasoning pertaining to your overly emotional state is rational.”

“Don’t sound so surprised,” Leonard laughed gently.

Spock raised an eyebrow.

Staring at Spock intently for a moment, Leonard returned to his meal for a few moments before addressing Spock again. “At least Jim’s got someone to spend Valentine’s Day with. Kid deserves a good time after the shit storm he’s had to deal with for the past month. Damn crazy Klingons.”

Blinking, Spock took three point two seconds to process the doctor’s information before demanding clarification. “Who do you speak of? I was under the impression that Jim was taking his shore leave alone.”

“Yeah, and whose fault is that?” Leonard glowered at Spock before his facial expression lifted. He collapsed back against his chair with a sigh. “Jim commed me a few days ago. Said he met some cargo captain whose been giving him a thrill. The kid won’t shut up about him.”

“I see,” Spock replied.

“He’s going out with him for dinner tonight at some fancy lounge. The guy’s human too—he wanted to take Jim out for Valentine’s Day since they’re both spending it alone. Nice of him, I suppose.” Spock could feel Leonard’s gaze cooling.

“Indeed.”

Leonard paused, the muscles in his cheeks constricting. “I wouldn’t take it too seriously, Spock. Jim doesn’t like being alone for too long. He’s just passing time with this guy.” Averting his gaze from the doctor’s searching gaze, Spock twisted his fingers together in his lap.

“If the captain desires to spend his time in the presence of an individual whose company he finds agreeable, I have no objections.”

“Damn cold blooded Vulcan,” Leonard’s voice rose as he leaned forward against the table. “You should care!”

“Doctor McCoy, as my physiology is predominantly Vulcan, the word cold would not be an accurate description for my blood. Although Vulcan body temperature is cooler than in humans, it still registers at a comfortable thirty two point eight degrees Celsius.”

Crossing his arms across his chest, Leonard grimaced, his body language retreating defensively. “For god’s sake, don’t get all snippy with me. I’m your doctor—I’ve patched you up more times than I care to think about. I know how warm your ridiculous green blood is.”

“Then I am uncertain why you have resorted to speaking scientific fallacies if you did not expect me to correct them,” Spock argued, beginning to conceive the most efficient way to extract himself from the doctor’s presence before his conversation became more insufferably outlandish.

“Because you’re being an idiot,” Leonard replied, nonsensically. “Why the hell didn’t you go on shore leave with Jim?”

“I had sensitive scientific experiments to oversee.”

“Bullshit,” Leonard crossed his arms across his chest, “If there were experiments to do, you would have known about them before you made all those plans to hang out on Atune VI with Jim. You’re not a drop out last minute type of guy, Spock. Anyone who’s spent five minutes with you could see through your excuse.”

Spock opened his mouth, then closed it.

“You made up some work to do out of nowhere so you wouldn’t have to go on shore leave with Jim.” Leonard inhaled then exhaled, the forceful rush of air causing his nostrils to flare dramatically. “Why?”

“There was no reasoning other than the one I stated,” Spock lied, standing from his chair with his tray of partially consumed pok tar.

Leonard laughed once, sharply. “In case you didn’t know, and I wouldn’t be surprised since you’re denser than a Denebian slime devil about anything emotional, despite all your big brain smarts, Jim was really looking forward to going to Atune VI with you. You made his week when you agreed and really disappointed him when you bailed the day before he left. Jim had all these crazy hijinks and sightseeing trips planned, even some stuff he usually avoids, museums and all that cultural stuff. He planned those just for you.”

Spock stiffened. “I was not aware my absence would cause Jim distress. I assumed he would have little difficulty enjoying himself without the restrictive nature of my presence. It is not in his nature to allow himself to be disappointed.”

“Yeah, well, he was,” Leonard said. “And you’ve disappointed yourself, too. I know you’ll deny it, but it seemed like you were looking forward to a little time alone with Jim, too.”

Spock glanced at his communicator even though his internal clock was aware of the time. “If you’ll excuse me, Doctor. I must return to the lab.”

“Sure, Spock,” Leonard sighed.

Spock walked from the mess hall more swiftly than necessary--away from the doctor's overly astute comments and piercing revelations.

 

 

Spock had lied. The experiment he was conducting was not time sensitive and could have waited until his return from Atune VI. Although Spock had agreed to spend shore leave with Jim to satisfy a legitimate desire to be alone with him in a more intimate setting, he had withdrew from their plans for the same reason.

Spock had harbored the realization of his physical and emotional attraction to Jim for the past three hundred and seventy two days. However, forcing his feelings to remain silent, despite the time he had had to enforce his mental shields, was becoming progressively more difficulty. Thoughts of Jim persistently assaulted his memory banks, while being directly in Jim’s presence caused the symptoms of Spock’s emotional regard to worsen. Spock was uncertain if his cerebral capabilities could continue to buffer these demanding sentiments if he spent an unimpeded week with Jim’s eliciting personality.

He could not reveal his feelings. Two years remained in their commission aboard the Enterprise. If Jim’s emotions for Spock were not mutually inclined toward romantic love, his first officer’s confession would cause discomfort and create an awkward tension between them. Although he suspected Jim would insist nothing change between them, that their friendship stay intact, Spock remained confident that his current emotional inclination would not falter. An almost obligatory distance would start to form between them, as they attempted to ease the other’s discomfort over Spock’s unwelcome feelings and Jim’s inability to respond. The resulting tension would filter into their communication on the bridge and on away missions; it was impossible to completely separate one’s personal life from one’s work when residing in the close quarters of a starship. Therefore, it would be necessary for Spock to request a transfer to save Jim from a disagreeable work environment and the crew from the danger inevitably linked to an emotionally compromised command team.

If continued emotional suppression meant Spock could ethically remain aboard the Enterprise, serving by Jim’s side, he would continue to do so by whatever means safely afforded to him.

Closing his eyes, Spock took a deep breath, centering his emotions. He returned his attention to the petri dish before him, burying his thoughts into the assigned task.

“Spock.”

Spock made a note of the effects radiation had on the illuminating aspects of species A57 from the tropical environment of Ghrodes II. He raised the degree setting slightly to observe whether the intensity would affect the output of light waves.

“Jim to Spock. Come in, Spock.” A small weight pressed against his shoulder.

Extracting his focus from the comfort of his meticulous calculations, Spock straightened. The hand on his shoulder tightened as Spock detected the presence of body heat behind him.

“Jim,” Spock spoke, turning to face the captain. “You were not scheduled to return to the Enterprise for another fifty two hours.”

Spock analyzed the expression spreading along the features of Jim’s face: the soft sweep of his eyebrows slightly raised; the warmth--figurative not literal as human optic nerves could not convey heat--of his gaze; pupils slightly dilated against the darkness of the lab; the curve of his lips upward. Removing his hand from Spock with a soft huff of breath that tickled the minuscule hairs along Spock’s jaw line, Jim’s gaze dropped downward briefly before returning. At his hips rested a box gripped in his right hand while his left moved restlessly, fingernails rubbing at the skin of his palm.

Jim was nervous. He had observed the captain’s limbs fidget during perilous situations such as the recent diplomatic debacle between the Klingons and the Federation when Jim had been forced to participate in several defense combats. Or whenever a member of his crew was in peril, the most recent incident being the kidnap of Ensign Chekov as a hostage by an aggravated Klingon warrior. As the captain gave his orders in each instance, commands dealing in matters of life and death, Jim’s hands would express one emotion, and the steady placement of his facial features, another.

Jim’s abrupt return combined with his conflicted body language raised an alarm within Spock, numbing his body with a rush of anxiety. “You are well?” Spock hastily queried.

Jim’s eyes widened slightly. He waved Spock’s concern away with a brush of his hand. “Oh yeah, I’m fine—don’t worry. I just—” Jim paused, his eyes swiveling to the right, to the floor, then back up to land on Spock’s chest for two point four seconds. “Missed you.” His gaze returned to Spock’s.

Spock lips opened as he considered one statement in response, and then closed as he reevaluated the formation of his words. “I should not have abandoned the plans we formulated to spend shore leave together. Leonard informed me of your disappointment after I extricated myself from our arranged excursion. I am,” Spock paused, considering the exact emotion, “aggrieved that I caused you feelings of dissatisfaction.”

Jim grinned, the movement of his lips stilted. He lowered the box onto a table and shoved his hands into his pockets. “Bones was right. I was really looking forward to hanging out. You know, just you and me. Give us a chance to talk about things.” Jim shrugged, and stepped away. He leaned his hands against the table containing Spock’s experiment, and peered down into the glass frame containing it. “But, I understand you can’t ignore science. You’re my chief science officer before you’re my friend.” He nodded at the frame. “Are these those illuminating plants from Ghrodes II you told me about?”

“Yes,” Spock replied. “Jim. Why did you believe shore leave would provide an opportunity for us to converse? We do so on a regular basis on the ship, both on and off duty.”

Spock perceived the quickening inhalation of Jim’s breath, the quiet thump of his finger pads along the metal rim of the table. “That’s a good question, Spock.” Jim breathed. “Probably because there’s more of a relaxed feel on shore leave, away from the restrictions of our uniforms. It’s easier to say something you shouldn’t when you’re not in uniform.”

“You are welcome to share anything with me, Jim. Whether we are in uniform or not.”

Laughing suddenly, Jim glanced back at Spock. “A naked heart to heart?”

Spock raised an eyebrow. Jim was deriving sexual connotations from his speech again – an overtly Terran trait. “If removing our clothes would make it easier for you to state the message you wish to impart, then I am willing to disrobe.” Spock began lifting the hem of his uniform shirt.

Jim choked out another laugh before pulling away Spock’s arm from his shirt. “It might force matters along more swiftly, if I’m lucky. But, I want to do this properly.”

Spock gripped in hands behind his back. “Jim. What is it you wish to tell me?”

After a moment to apparently gather his will as Jim tapped his hand twice against the table and drew in an inflating inhale of breath, Jim grabbed the box he had entered the lab with and handed it to Spock. “It’s for you. I was planning to give this to you on shore leave.” He cheeks reddened slightly. “As a Valentine.

Spock frowned, his understanding of the developing situation dissipating into confusion. “As you spent the day with a human cargo captain I am told you became particularly enamored with, it would have been more prudent to deliver a gift to him.”

“What?” Jim pushed a hand through his hair fervently, causing it to stand on end. “Gods, why did Bones tell you about that?”

“I believe he was attempting to incense the emotional center of my brain.”

Jim stared at Spock, his gaze escalating. “I was just hanging out with Paul. Someone to have fun and see the sights with. We didn’t do anything Bones might have implied we did, I swear.”

“I see.” The weight that had been pressing against Spock’s stomach ever since Leonard described Jim’s Valentine’s Day plans lifted.

“Open the box.” Jim’s hand played with the hair at the back of his neck. He bit his bottom lip.

Pulling the edge of the red ribbon wrapping the box until it unfurled from its messy knot, Spock lifted the lid. Inside was a single red rose.

“You know what red roses mean, right? To Terrans?” Jim asked.

Spock lifted the flower from the box. A single red rose symbolized love.

“I know it’s really cliché, but it’s hard to find something that says ‘I love you’ more clearly than a red rose.” Jim took a step forward. “And, I thought it might be a little funny. Remember our first Valentine’s Day on the ship? You nearly wrote me up for accepting some yellow roses from Lieutenant Arnett.” He laughed, uneasily, the chuckle reverberating at different intervals. “I’m not a flower expert, but I’m pretty sure yellow roses are for friendship.” Jim’s eyes were averted again, trained on the empty box still clutched in Spock’s hand. Although he felt the box crushing under the strength of his grip, Spock was currently unable to control the heat rushing in a tumultuous stream through his body, clamoring against the obstruction of his fingers.

He placed the box on the table and uncurled his hand.

“Your allergies—” Spock began.

“I told you years ago not to worry about that,” Jim sniffed. “Besides, I’m giving it to you—not putting it on display in my quarters.”

“Your reasoning behind giving me a rose is to convey your romantic feelings toward my person?” Although his memory had replayed Jim’s speech five times as he scrutinized the rose within his hand, Spock required confirmation that he possessed no fallacy within his auditory functions, considering his sudden emotional compromise, nor his interpretation of Jim’s meaning.

“Yeah,” Jim said quietly. Taking another step forward, Jim closed their physical distance. His hand lifted as if intending to take Spock’s arm. It halted midair. “Is that ok?”

Spock looked at Jim, the uncertainty in his rounded eyes, and at the hand suspended between them, wondering why it was not touching him as he so fervently desired.

“Yes, your gift is more than acceptable,” Spock answered. Reaching out with his empty hand, he rested his palm within Jim’s. The expression on Jim’s face brightened before compressing into a sneeze.

*


	5. Year Five: Chocolate

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jim and Spock exchange Valentine's Day gifts during the last year of their five year mission.

“You’re lucky there’s a cure for diabetes,” Leonard rambled as the captain snatched a piece of chocolate salvaged from a glowing red box and slipped it between his lips.

“It’d be rude if I didn’t eat them. I don’t want to hurt anyone’s feelings,” Jim mumbled around the glutinous piece of candy.

“More like, I’ve got a foolish sugar tooth and zero will to curb temptation.”

“That too.” Jim popped another chocolate into his mouth.

On his way to the bridge, Spock slipped the box of chocolates he had made into the recycler. Leonard was correct, the captain did not need any additional sources of sucrose contaminating his liver.

Thirty six seconds after Jim had settled into the captain’s chair after arriving on the bridge, Ensign Garret, her cheeks flushed crimson, handed the captain a box of chocolates in the shape of a symbolic human heart, wishing him a Happy Valentine’s Day. Jim thanked her, his lips pressed firmly together yet slanting upward.

Spock forced his brow into a neutral position as he turned to monitor the readouts on his console from the Beta Orion nebula.

*

“You’ll have to bear with me. I’m super sappy, so I got you a Valentine’s gift.”

Spock raised an eyebrow. “I had no objections to your gift last year. Therefore, I am uncertain why you believe I would now.”

“Ok, well,” Jim handed Spock a wrapped box. “It’s more of a joke--you don’t have to eat them. But, using a traditional gift worked last time, so figured I should stick with the theme. Maybe I’ll get lucky again.” Jim winked. From the lowered tenor of his tone, Spock suspected Jim was hinting that the gift’s revelation may lead to Spock plying Jim with sexual favors, or vice versa.”

The gift contained a selection of chocolate truffles. When Spock had refusing to accept the chocolates offered to him by crew members during previous Valentine Days, Spock had described, when Jim questioned his objection to the substance, the intoxicating effect chocolate induced on Vulcan physiology. After that explanation, every time Spock joined the bridge crew for their weekly games of poker, Jim, the provider of beverages, would supply alcoholic substances as well as chocolate, placing a plateful neatly in front of Spock. Spock never consumed chocolate within the company of colleagues as it seemed unwise. Since their coupling, however, Spock had, during moments of relaxed seclusion with Jim, partaken of a piece or two. And now, Spock found the idea of Jim feeding him the delicate chocolates, an act currently being suggested by the captain in great detail, oddly appealing.

“I am pleased with your gift,” Spock replied after Jim had finished explaining the fantasy which had obviously been developing in his consciousness for some time. “And your proposed use of them sounds fascinating.”

Jim grinned.

“I must apologize. I have no gift for you in return.”

Jim waved a hand in front of him with a laugh. “Don’t worry, I wasn’t expecting anything. Valentine’s Day isn’t a Vulcan holiday.”

“However, it is a Terran one, and as I am in a romantic relationship with a human, it was my intention to give you, coincidentally, chocolates as well. However, in the end, I found it more prudent not to.”

Jim’s eyes widened. “What? Why? I love chocolate.”

“I am aware.”

“So,” Jim replied with lilted breath, leaving the word on a raised question.

“I observed that you had acquired an ample amount of chocolates from various crew members and calculated that you now owned enough to last you two to three months. Therefore, I refrained from giving you the chocolates I had made.”

“Are you kidding me?” Jim gaped, the exclamation expelling from his lips deafeningly. “You _made_ me chocolates? Made them for me?”

Spock raised his eyebrow at the repetitive interrogation of Spock’s actions. “Of course. For whom else would I deem it an obligatory use of time to prepare chocolates for?”

Jim grinned. “I can’t believe you made me chocolates. When you do romance, you do it right.”

Spock questioned the validity of Jim’s comment. He often suspected himself lacking in expertise about the frivolous concept of human romance and the many routines that Terrans performed to prove their affection for their partners. For a Vulcan, simply expressing a mutual desire to mate would be enough to indicate a lasting bond between the couple. After the original statement of regard is made, continuously reinforcing its existence would be superfluous.

“Where are they?” Jim asked, tapping Spock’s chest. “You’re giving them to me. I don’t care what obsessive logical thoughts you’re thinking about my blood sugar. I promise not to dump a whole box of chocolates down my throat every night and pass out from sugar poisoning if you give me yours.”

“I deposited them in the recycler this morning.”

“What?” Jim yelled, gripping Spock’s arm as if he were about to collapse from an influx of emotional anguish. Spock judged Jim’s reaction to his almost gift extremely confusing and overly excessive.

“I deposited them in the recycler this morning,” Spock repeated. “It is of no importance. The chocolates were of mediocre quality considering my skills do not lie in the culinary arts. During my tests, I continuously added too much or too little orange liqueur. I was attempting to emulate the taste of the chocolates we consumed on Hyteus IV during our last shore leave, the ones you zealously professed a fondness for. However, I was never able to create an exact replication.”

Jim stared, an intense fervor in his gaze. Despite the cool temperature of Jim’s quarters, Spock felt himself begin to flush. “Spock,” wrapping a hand around the back of Spock’s neck, Jim tugged, pulling Spock closer to him. “I don’t care if they tasted like sawdust. I would’ve eaten all of your chocolates.”

Spock frowned. “Clarify your reasoning. It is illogical to devour something that provides no nutritional value if it has an unpalatable taste.”

“Because you made them, of course,” Jim laughed lightly, pressing his lips against Spock’s briefly. “They were made with love.”

“Love is not an ingredient one can input into a culinary recipe,” Spock argued. As Jim took a step back, Spock become impatient with Jim’s illogic. Their time could be better spent continuing the kiss Jim had too fleetingly initiated, rather than arguing about the contents of Spock’s discarded chocolates.

Jim stroked his hand along the length of Spock’s arm until their fingers met. “Chocolate isn’t your thing. Baking isn’t your thing. And Valentine’s Day isn’t your thing. But you still made me chocolates because you knew it’d be something I’d like. If that’s not love, I don’t know what is.”

Blinking in response to Jim’s explanation, Spock began to comprehend the concealed emotion behind his motives as he processed this interpretation. Indeed, it was unlikely Spock would have created something as unessential as chocolate, undertaking a frustratingly messy process of creation which wasted an evening to complete, for someone he did not have a strong emotional attachment to.

Jim’s hand gripped his, warming the muscles along Spock’s arm. “I can’t believe you chucked your chocolates because I already got some from the crew. You’re my boyfriend—we’ve been dating for a year—your chocolates should have been at the top of my pile.”

“Several crew members added their chocolates to your pile before I considered approaching you with my gift,” Spock objected.

Jim rolled his eyes. “They wouldn’t have if they knew we were dating.” Jim nudged Spock’s shoulder with his own. “You’re the one that wanted to keep our relationship under wraps for a gazillion different _logical_ reasons you listed the first night we spent together.”

“Your memory is accurate.”

“You were jealous,” Jim said, “watching me receive Valentines from other people.”

Spock stiffened. He attempted to formulate a logical response to refute Jim’s accusation, but could think of none.

“Why?” Jim asked, the word gently exhaled.

Spock considered the question.

“You don’t think I’d actually be persuaded to ditch you for someone else over a box of chocolates?” Jim laughed roughly, the sound sharp against Spock’s eardrums.

He closed his eyes. “No,” Spock replied. “Although you are impulsive, I do not doubt your affection for me.”

“Then why?” Jim lifted his left hand in the air before letting it fall heavily against his side.

“I do not know.” Spock said, glanced out the viewport. “Jealousy is a most illogical emotion.”

“Well, stop,” Jim demanded, his fingers tracing nebulous patterns along Spock’s palm. “I like chocolate, but not more than you.”

Spock nodded, his thoughts softening under Jim’s physical attentions. “Although I should be aware of this fact considering my close observations of your person and the extended amount of time we spend in each other’s presence, I find myself continuously questioning the possibility of our separation at some unknown time. The thought of our relationship terminating is disquieting. I do not want to be without you, Jim.”

Jim sighed, sitting down on the bed, pulling Spock down beside him. “Well, welcome to the club.”

Spock raised an eyebrow. “You are experiencing similar apprehensions?”

“Well, our five year mission is almost over. Promotion announcements will be coming through soon.” Jim glanced at Spock from his peripheral vision. “They’ll offer you a captaincy of course.”

“And you will be offered a position with the admirably.”

Jim snorted. “I don’t know about that. Can you imagine--I’d go crazy shuffling PADDs all day at Starfleet Command. Telling ships where to go and what to do instead of actually experiencing the unknown for myself. Can you actually see me as an admiral?”

Spock rested his hand on Jim’s knee. “Yes,” Spock replied.

Jim rolled his eyes. “You think way too much of me.”

“I think nothing but the truth.”

“Tell that to your jealous streak.”

Spock did not suppress the small tilt of his lips upward.

“I don’t want to leave the Enterprise,” Jim continued. “They’ll have to drag me off kicking and screaming.”

“A dramatic media event Starfleet would likely wish to prevent being shown on Federation news broadcasts.”

Jim chuckled. “One bonus of the intergalactic paparazzi being obsessed with my face ever since Nero.”

“Starfleet would receive a similar, albeit less expressive, reaction if they chose to assign me to another ship,” Spock added, tracing the outline of Jim’s kneecap. “I’m a scientist. I have no wish to command a ship.”

Shaking his head, Jim took Spock’s hand again with a squeeze. “You’d make an awesome captain—something Starfleet sorely needs.”

“In this instance, I find that my own wishes outweigh those of duty.” Spock returned the stroke of Jim’s fingers along his own, relishing the tenderness of Jim’s emotions mingling with his own at the contact. Lowering his mental shields, Spock allowed Jim’s essence to fill him. “Jim,” he murmured, “If you are willing, I would like to exchange my thoughts with your own.” Lifting the fingers of his left hand, Spock stroked the soft hairs along Jim’s temple. “Although it is not a conventional Valentine’s gift, I suspect it could prove more romantically satisfying than my discarded chocolates.”

“A meld?” Jim asked, leaning his head against Spock’s touch.

“Yes,” Spock breathed.

“Do it.”

Slipping his emotions from the cerebral restraints binding them within his limbic system, Spock let them flow, guiding them gradually through his nervous system and along the mental link he easily established with Jim’s openly generous mind. Everything he felt for Jim, emotions he had been incubating during their years of service together, shared joys and griefs, their growth from comrades and friends to their stimulating new status as romantic partners, was passed to Jim for him to feel in kind. For Jim to truly know what he meant to Spock.

Jim’s eyes widened, his grip against Spock’s tightening. He did not move away—a small fear that had worried at Spock’s thoughts whenever he fantasized about tangling his consciousness with Jim’s, in a similar manner as their appendages crossed and linked when their bodies lay under the sheets of Jim’s bed in the evenings. Even after sexual congress when Jim lay sated in Spock’s arms, Spock would still crave more, for the interconnection of their mental presence along with the physical.

“Whoa,” Jim whispered. “That’s you, right?”

“Affirmative.” He let a question drift into Jim’s mind.

Jim smiled, an answering promise within his thoughts. “Don’t stop.”

***

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much to all who left comments while I was posting--I loved hearing your responses to the story! <333 I hope everyone enjoys the last chapter. Happy Valentine's~!
> 
> If you'd like to keep in touch, I can also be found on [tumblr](http://noodleinabarrel.tumblr.com) for spirk fangirling, and fic writing updates.


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